Secrets Do Not Die
by RatherBeAWriter
Summary: In the middle of a storm, a pregnant young woman appears at Emily and Derek's apartment. Her dying words shake Emily to the core. Ian Doyle is dead but it seems that his legacy lives on. And it's about to cause more trouble than anyone could have anticipated.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I really wasn't intending to start a new multi-chapter fic, but this idea came to mind and I just had to start writing. It's the first idea I've had in a while that I'm really excited about, so please let me know what you think. I hope you like it.**

**This is set some time after season 7, but imagining Emily didn't leave.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or the characters. **

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The rain battered the windows of the apartment, sounding at times like bursts of gunfire, as it was forced against the glass by the fierce wind. Unsecured gates and trashcans clattered and banged, joining the creaking trees in filling the night with an unearthly percussion. And Emily Prentiss pulled the throw tighter around her shoulders, burrowing further into the warmth of being inside, and feeling grateful to whichever bringer of luck had caused the coin to fall as it had.

**Forty-five minutes earlier:**

"You did not save my ass!" Emily insisted as she and Derek stepped into their apartment after returning from a case. "I had him – your macho ego just felt the need to play the superhero and dive in to take him down!"

"You're welcome, Princess," Morgan teased, closing the door and immediately pressing a deep kiss to his girlfriend's lips. "I've been wanting to do that all week," he grinned as he pulled away to draw breath. That was the downside of dating a co-worker – even when they'd dealt with all the bureaucracy which surrounded making their relationship public, they still felt the need to overcompensate when it came to remaining professional in the workplace.

"I seem to think we managed a few kisses while we were away," Emily responded, rolling her eyes and laughing. She thought of one particular occasion when Derek had pulled her into a stairwell between completing their profile and briefing the local police. Despite the difficulties their job posed to their relationship he always seemed to successfully steal moments here and there.

"Maybe I'm thinking of more than a kiss," he grinned, pulling her close and brushing his lips over her neck.

"Maybe I haven't eaten in twelve hours and want dinner first," she responded, twisting out of his arms and smirking as he remained alone by the door, looking momentarily put out.

He recovered quickly and layered on the Morgan charm.

"Allow me," he insisted, heading straight towards the kitchen. "A real man can take care of his woman in more than one way," he grinned.

Emily shook her head; this side of Derek was exactly why it had taken them so long to get together. At least he only used it to be funny or to wind her up. She followed him into the kitchen and perched on the counter as he searched the fridge and cupboards for ingredients.

"How does a can of tuna, served on a bed of stale crackers, with a sprinkling of slightly furry cheese sound?" he asked teasingly after he finished assessing their food situation.

Emily screwed up her face. Had it really been that long since they went grocery shopping?

"How about Chinese?" she suggested.

"That place takes ages to deliver," he replied, fully anticipating what she would say next.

"It doesn't take as long if someone picks it up."

"Em, it's raining!" he whined.

"I didn't say you had to get it," she replied, though really that had been what she was hinting at. "Rock, paper scissors?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "I heard that conversation you were having with Reid about probability and predictability."

She laughed at his insistent expression.

"How about tossing a coin then?" she suggested. "There is no way I could use one of Reid's tricks to fix that."

"Okay," he agreed, pulling a quarter from his pocket.

"Heads!" she shouted, as he flipped the coin in the air.

"Damn," he muttered as he caught the coin and drew his hand away, and Emily grinned at her victory.

"If you go then we can eat it in bed," she promised, biting her lip seductively. "Naked," she mouthed, in case he wasn't yet convinced.

"Fine, but we're not getting that weird duck thing," he replied, pulling his jacket back on and heading into the hall.

Emily smiled to herself, knowing that he would inevitably get "that weird duck thing" and pick up a bottle of her favourite wine. And that, in turn, she would show him just how grateful she was.

**Present time:**

The buzzer rang, drawing Emily out of her blanket cocoon, muttering about Derek and his inability to remember his keys. She answered the intercom, preparing to jokingly threaten not to let him in. But the only response which came from the outside was the whine and screech of the wind as it blew against the doorway. Feeling a little guilty that she had convinced Derek to go out in such awful weather, she pressed the button to release the door.

After a wait of around five minutes, there was a knock at the apartment door. Suddenly filled with anticipation for spending a stormy night shut away in the apartment with her boyfriend, Emily rushed towards the front door with an excited glow surrounding her face. However, her smile fell as she opened it and took in the figure that stood before her.

In the dimly lit corridor stood a weather-beaten and shivering young woman. As she leaned forward and grabbed onto the door frame, Emily became aware of the swollen abdomen, which her multiple layers of tattered clothing failed to disguise. The woman – or rather the girl – let out a strangled cry as a contraction coursed through her body. Instinctively, Emily stepped forward, and took hold of her arm, pulling her into the warmth.

"Help me," the girl gasped, collapsing to the ground, despite Emily's assistance.

"I'll call an ambulance," Emily thought aloud, grabbing her cellphone and dialling 911.

"There isn't time," the girl muttered through gritted teeth. She screamed as the operator answered Emily's call.

"I need an ambulance," Emily quickly instructed. "A woman just showed up at my apartment – she's in labour."

Another scream carried throughout the building and Emily struggled with her urge to comfort the girl and the need to get an ambulance as quickly as possible. She hurriedly gave her address to the operator and then turned to the distressed stranger.

"I need to push," her weak voice breathed.

"No, you have to wait," Emily replied, panic evident in her voice. "The ambulance is on its way."

"I can't!" the girl sobbed.

The next ten minutes passed in a blur. Emily's cell was on speaker. An unknown voice guided her through the steps of how to deliver a baby, interspersed with the assurance that the paramedics were on their way. The girl's breathing became more erratic. Emily felt the weight of the baby's head, and then its body, slide into her waiting hands. And there was so much blood; more than could be normal.

"You did it," Emily reassured the girl, as she blindly followed the disembodied voice's instructions on how to cut the cord. "Did you hear me? You've got a daughter."

The stranger remained quiet; she was fading fast.

"Where's the ambulance?" Emily shouted to no one in particular. "Come on, say something!" Emily begged. "Stay with me." She couldn't pinpoint the identity of the emotion she was directing towards this person who had stumbled into her life only minutes before, but she found herself praying to someone she had long since stopped believing in.

"Valhalla," the girl mumbled, over the sound of the elements from outside. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought against her racing heart and the blood which continued to flow from her body.

"What did you say?" Emily breathed, feeling a chill spread through her body. With a frighteningly strong grip she grabbed hold of the dying girl's arm and shook her, willing her to open her eyes and explain herself. "What did you say?"

There was no response.

As the baby resting in the crook of her arm let out her first cry, Emily pressed two fingers against the young mother's neck. No pulse could be found. A life had begun and another had ended. And in the middle of it all, one word seemed to echo around the apartment, and roar louder than the howling wind outside.

Valhalla.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter :) It made me so happy! Here's a little more Emily and Derek before the mystery really gets going.**

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Derek wanted to get home as quickly as possible but, once he was out in the storm anyway, he also wanted to get everything he needed to make the evening special for Emily. The nights they spent together still felt like a novelty. It was only seven months since she returned from the dead and six months and two weeks since they decided to give a relationship a chance. From time to time he had to take a moment to remind himself that she was alive and that they were together. He'd spent so long grieving and regretting the chance that he had missed that the memories of those feelings were often stronger than her presence beside him in bed. But three weeks ago they'd moved in together and he was finally starting to believe that she was there to stay.

He'd been gone for over an hour, when he finally pulled into their street, with a bag of Chinese take-out, a tub of ice-cream, a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers on the passenger seat. However, the smile which had been fixed on his face for the duration of the drive slipped as he became aware of the flashing lights of an ambulance parked outside their building.

"What's going on?" he asked a passing neighbour, as he jumped out into the rain and felt his heart rate quicken.

The neighbour, who didn't have much to say at the best of times, shrugged and continued on his way. Derek grabbed the bags from the car and tried to reassure himself that there was no reason that the emergency vehicle would have anything to do with Emily. But an equally strong voice in his head reminded him that she was a magnet for trouble. He had numerous heart-stopping memories to support that fact.

Despite his best attempts to remain calm, his pace quickened as he entered the building, and by the time he reached their floor he was taking the stairs two at a time.

"Emily!" he shouted, as he rushed along their corridor and saw the light spilling from their open door. "Emily!"

For a split second Derek's body and mind seemed to shut down completely. Lying just inside the apartment, surrounded by blood and loosely draped in a sheet, was the body of a woman. It took him a moment to notice the scruffy sneakers which stuck out of the bottom of the sheet, and the blonde hair which was visible at the top. It wasn't her;he could breathe again.

"Emily," he gasped, with a mix of relief and concern, as he followed the sound of voices to the living room and found her sitting beside a paramedic on the sofa.

Her arms and hands were marked with traces of blood, though it seemed like the medic had been trying to help her clean them off, and her pallor was ghostly pale.

"Are you the boyfriend?" the medic asked.

"Derek Morgan," he nodded, introducing himself and immediately taking a seat on the other side of Emily. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but she barely responded and remained upright and rigid. "What happened?" he asked.

"I couldn't do anything to stop the bleeding," Emily mumbled, staring straight ahead. "Is she okay?" she added suddenly, puzzling Derek until he saw that the other medic was tending to a small bundle wrapped in several blankets.

"She's a little premature and she needs some help with her breathing but this is one tough little girl," the medic answered. "You did a great job with the delivery, Miss Prentiss."

Morgan tried to process what he was hearing and what had happened in the relatively short time since he left the apartment.

"Did you know her?" he asked, wondering why this woman had ended up on their doorstep rather than any of the others in the block.

Emily shook her head in response as she picked at specks of dried blood around her nails.

"We need to get the baby to the hospital," one of the paramedics announced, before he could ask any further questions. "The police and the ME are on their way." It was clear that he felt awkward leaving the scene before backup arrived, but everyone in the room understood that the infant's life took precedence over all other matters.

"Okay," Derek replied while Emily remained silent and staring.

"She'll be all right," the medic assured in response to his concerned expression. "She's had a shock but she just needs someone to look after her."

"Thank you for staying with her." Morgan subconsciously pulled Emily closer, wishing that she was the kind of person who was good at being looked after. If only it was that straightforward.

The medic nodded before he and his partner rushed the baby out to the ambulance and left the two agents alone.

"She said Valhalla." Emily's quiet voice cracked through the uncomfortable silence.

"What?" he replied, louder than he intended as he failed to control his surprise.

"The girl said Valhalla. Right before she died."

"Are you sure?" he asked, trying to twist his neck so he could see her expression clearly. "Emily, look at me." He gently cupped his hand against her face, brushing his thumb lightly over her cheek and causing her to turn around.

She nodded as distress and confusion flickered across her eyes.

"Em, you had a shock. You might have misheard her." he suggested, as non-confrontationally as possible. What Emily had seen had to have been emotionally traumatic – it only made sense that it would take her mind back to the traumas she had suffered in the not so distant past.

"I know what she said," she responded shortly. "I didn't imagine it."

Derek paused. He knew it wouldn't help to argue with Emily, especially when she was so obviously shaken. But the woman couldn't have said Valhalla, could she? He looked from his girlfriend towards where he knew the body lay, as though he might see something that would answer his question. Doyle was dead; Valhalla was dead. But something about Emily's spooked demeanour made him question even that apparent certainty.

Before he could say anything more, two police officers announced their presence at the front door of the apartment. He glanced at the rapidly melting ice-cream and lukewarm food, which he had abandoned on the coffee table, and sighed. He was supposed to be laughing at her attempts to look sexy while eating noodles. They were supposed to be unwinding after a long case. Instead they'd be speaking to the police and the medical examiner about the dead body in the hallway. And once again, Ian Doyle's ghost seemed to have worked its way between them.

"I should go and speak to them," Emily said, in a slightly delayed response to the arrival of the officers. She stood up, seemingly on autopilot, and moved towards the sound of the officers.

Morgan was quick to follow, wrapping his arm around her as though he feared that whatever was causing her to move would suddenly stop. Or that she would simply disappear if he let go. Until they got to the bottom of this Valhalla thing, he wasn't taking any chances.

"I'll call Hotch once we're done with the police," he told her. At the very least they needed somewhere to stay for the night, but that same intuition that had caused him to run up the stairs to the apartment told him that their unit chief would be required for much more than his guest room.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone reading, following, favouriting and reviewing! :) I should definitely be preparing for next week's classes just now but since I have no idea what I'm doing anyway I figured it wouldn't hurt to take 10 minutes to edit and post this chapter. Hope you enjoy it and feel free to let me know what you think :)**

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After receiving a phone call from Morgan late the previous night, Hotch hadn't really managed to get back to sleep. His colleagues had arrived shortly afterwards and he had shown them to the guest room. He didn't mind the disruption; he was more concerned by the haunted look on Emily's face. In the time since she'd returned he'd seen her grow happier as she reconnected with her friends and fell in love with Morgan. She laughed more than he'd ever seen and it had been a long time since she'd shown any signs of stress. But when she and Morgan had arrived several hours before, she seemed to have regressed into the person she was seven months ago.

Now it was early in the morning and Hotch could hear movement coming from the kitchen. Assuming it was his son trying to make his own breakfast, he pulled himself out of bed and headed downstairs.

The sight which greeted him was not Jack, but rather Emily. She seemed preoccupied as she made herself a cup of coffee, and she didn't hear him arrive. Despite his best attempts not to startle her, she jumped and splashed hot coffee over her hand as she became aware of a male figure at the edge of her peripheral vision.

"Sorry, I thought you were Jack," he apologised as the mug slipped out of her grasp and smashed when it hit the floor. "Is your hand okay?"

"Damn it!" she muttered. "Sorry, Hotch. I didn't mean to wake you. Or to make a mess." She immediately started looking around the room for a cloth. "And my hand's fine," she added as an afterthought.

Hotch frowned at how on edge she seemed to be. It was as though Doyle really had re-entered her life.

"He's dead, Emily," he reminded her, knowing that he sometimes had to take a moment to tell himself the same thing in respect of Foyet. "He's not going to show up and hurt you."

"I know," she replied, but a hint of uncertainty tinged her voice. Bending down, she tried to pick up the broken mug, but in her agitated state her fingers fumbled over the pieces of porcelain.

"Sit down – I'll clean up," Hotch instructed.

"Let me," she insisted. "We've already put you to enough trouble."

"Emily…" he sighed, raising his eyebrows in an expression which told her there was no point in arguing.

Reluctantly, she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and took a seat, while Hotch set about cleaning up the coffee.

"Maybe coffee wasn't the best choice anyway," she said with a forced laugh. "Got any chamomile tea?" Despite her attempts to make light of the situation, it was clear she was still agitated.

Hotch tried to smile but it turned out more like a grimace. He was really worried about the long term effects of the previous night for Emily. It seemed like they had only just got the real Emily Prentiss back and now something was threatening to take her away again.

"Everything okay?" Derek asked, joining them as Hotch dumped the pieces of mug in the trash. He had woken to find Emily missing from the bed and had immediately got up to find her.

"Just smashing up Hotch's kitchen," Emily responded sarcastically. "But everything's fine."

Her dry chuckle didn't fool her boyfriend any more than it had her boss and a concerned frown formed on his face.

"It was my fault," Hotch explained. "I made Emily jump when I came into the room."

Derek could see that, despite his explanation, Hotch was also worried. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Emily, not caring that they were in company. He just wanted her to feel safe.

"I want to get down the ME's office as soon as possible this morning," she told him, leaning in to his hold. "She said that she'd tell me anything she found out about the girl. We could even ask Garcia if she can help with identifying her," she added hopefully.

Morgan sighed. The ME, Doctor Pearson, was almost certain the young mother's death had been caused by a placental abruption, but the girl had other injuries which suggested she may have been involved in a struggle. From that moment, he'd known Emily wouldn't be able to walk away. Both her need to dig further into the possible Valhalla connection, and her need to get justice for the woman who had died right in front of her, would take over any thought for her own safety or wellbeing.

"Em, it's not an FBI case. Why don't you just stay here today and take it easy?" he said, knowing the suggestion would likely fall on deaf ears, but still feeling it necessary to say what he was thinking.

"I know that, but I need to know who she is and why she ended up at our door. I was the last person she saw to before she died; she begged me for help - I owe her that much. Hotch?" She looked towards their unit chief for support.

"I can let you take a few personal days. And if the police are okay with it, then you can speak to Garcia as well," he replied.

Derek immediately threw an angry look in his boss's direction – he couldn't understand why he was encouraging Emily to get even more involved than she already was. But Hotch knew exactly what he was doing – he was stopping his agent and friend from chasing the spectre of Valhalla by herself. He understood that she had to do it, but there was no way she was going it alone. Morgan very quickly caught on to Hotch's train of thought.

"Then I'll come with you," he told her. "If that's okay with you, Hotch?"

"Of course it is," Hotch nodded, glad to have Morgan on side.

Emily was very much aware of the subtle looks and silent plots being shared by the two men, but she knew they were only trying to look out for her. And she had to admit, if she was going to encounter Doyle in any form – even if he was dead and buried – she was glad to have Derek by her side. Like he always was.

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A couple of hours later, Emily and Derek were on their way to see the ME at her office. As they walked through the building and towards the room where the doctor was currently performing the autopsy, Derek was trying his hardest to distract Emily.

"But my mom really wants to meet you," he stressed, to support his suggestion that they take a trip to Chicago at some point in the next few weeks.

"She's already met me," Emily reminded him.

"That was years ago. And you weren't my girlfriend then," he added, a grin spreading across his face at the word.

"And that's probably why she liked me," she replied dryly. She didn't have a history of attracting the approval of her boyfriends' mothers.

"Come on, what's not to like about…"

Derek fell silent as Emily pressed her finger to her lips and reached for her gun. They were approaching the autopsy room and something felt wrong. She nodded towards the broken blinds on one of the internal windows, and then towards the slightly open door. Without uttering another word, he also unholstered his weapon.

Holding his gun in front of him, Morgan led the way, slowly and quietly pushing the door further open so that they could slip inside. As he did so he glanced back at Emily, his eyes telling her to remain alert, because inside there were further signs of a disturbance.

The two agents made their way across the large and sterile room, avoiding the scattered trays of instruments and broken glass which littered the floor. There were no signs of movement but the liquid which dripped from a broken jar on the counter made it clear that whatever had happened, had happened not too long ago.

"Doctor Pearson!" Emily exclaimed, as she saw the medical examiner lying on the floor beside an overturned table. She rushed towards the woman and quickly realised that blood was seeping through her shirt. "She's been shot – call an ambulance!" she instructed Derek, who had just finished clearing the room.

"Is she conscious?" he asked, as he promptly dialled 911.

"Barely," Emily responded, squeezing the doctor's hand and receiving a minimal response.

"A-agent," the woman breathed, struggling desperately to speak.

"You don't need to speak," Emily assured her with a shake of the head. "Help is on its way." She smiled reassuringly and squeezed the doctor's hand again. For the second time in the space of twenty-four hours it seemed as though someone was at risk of bleeding to death before her eyes.

"Tattoo," the doctor gasped, insistent that she had something she needed to say. "The girl."

Emily suddenly became aware of what was missing from the room – the young woman's body was nowhere to be seen.

"What was the tattoo of?" she asked, realising that the other woman was trying to provide them with identifying marks, despite the fact the body was missing.

"F-f-four-leaf…" the woman began but she choked and her words trailed off.

"Four-leaf clover?" Emily asked, feeling as though the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees.

Regaining some control of her breathing, Doctor Pearson nodded weakly. Emily turned to Derek to make sure that he was aware of what had just been revealed. If she hadn't known him better she'd have thought the look on his face was raw fear.

"Help's almost here," she said, snapping her attention back to the injured woman. She pulled off her jacket and scrunched it up, before pressing it against the heavy blood flow from the bullet wound. "Stay with me." A surge of anger and upset fired through her body as the words left her mouth. This couldn't be happening again.

Thankfully, it wasn't much longer before the paramedics arrived. The doctor was unconscious, but she was breathing. Just.

Emily stepped away and let the medics work, drifting towards Derek's arms as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She had almost found the comfort of his warmth when she had a thought which caused her to become rigid with fright.

"The baby," she gasped. "They didn't think there was a need for protection at the hospital."

Morgan returned his girlfriend's panicked look. If whoever was involved found it necessary to steal a body and shoot the medical examiner, then they were clearly trying to get rid of evidence of something. And there was a very real risk that the baby girl lying unprotected in the NICU was a part of that evidence.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing the last chapter! I hadn't expected to have time to write this week, but the upside of being too tired and sick to go out tonight was that I managed to finish this chapter! I hope you enjoy it :)**

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The tiny girl gazed up at the newest visitor to her plastic box. She'd spent less than twenty-four hours in the world and had already seen so many faces. None of them had been her mother or father, but it didn't seem that she minded. Considering that her small frame was connected to so many wires and tubes, she was surprisingly content as she slept or gurgled in the artificial warmth of her temporary home.

A small smile played across the visitor's lips as she watched the baby wriggle around. But her attention quickly returned to surveying the room. This person was different from the doctors and nurses; this person had a job to do that involved more than just the child.

"Can I help you?" a nurse asked, as another stranger appeared at the locked door of the ward.

The visitor straightened up – this was what she had been expecting. And as the atmosphere of the room palpably changed, a whimper escaped from the previously happy child. At just thirteen hours old, she was about to learn her first life lesson: nothing is ever as it seems.

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"No one is answering!" Emily exclaimed, resisting the urge to throw her cellphone against the dashboard.

"We already spoke to Hotch – he was going to get someone on it," Morgan replied, trying to calm her down.

After their realisation that the baby was in danger, they had contacted both the police and their unit chief. Now, as they raced towards the hospital with the SUV's sirens blaring, they could only hope that it would be some sort of law enforcement agent who reached the child first.

"You need to drive faster," Emily instructed, repeatedly readjusting her position in the passenger seat as she grew more agitated. She didn't like feeling like there was nothing she could do to help.

Derek glanced at the speedometer and then returned his eyes to the wet road which lay before them. There was no way he could go faster. He could understand Emily's frustration but it wouldn't help anyone if they got into an accident.

"We'll be there soon," he assured her, knowing he could say nothing that would calm her down in any meaningful way.

"What if we're not there soon enough? She's a baby; she's defenceless. If this is Doyle…"

"He's dead, Emily!" Derek interrupted, more aggressively than he had intended. "I'm sorry," he softened as she fell silent and turned away from him. "I just mean that it's not Doyle. Whoever we're dealing with, it's not him. You need to remember that."

Emily heard his words and she understood. She wasn't even annoyed that he'd snapped. But she was done talking. She had nothing useful to say, as the distance between them and the child that had taken its first breath in her arms lessened at a pace which would never be fast enough to slow her racing pulse.

/  
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The nurse appeared tense as she awaited an answer to her question. In amongst the lifesaving equipment of the NICU, two hands came to rest on heavy metal objects which were concealed by clothing.

"I'm here to see my niece," the man just outside of the door answered. "My sister died last night," he continued. "The family's in bits – we didn't even get to say goodbye. But the child shouldn't be on her own." His accent wasn't particularly strong but the way he spoke made it clear he wasn't local.

With a sympathetic smile, the nurse opened the door, though her unease became evident as she turned her back on the man. The child in question already had one visitor and the situation was beginning to make her feel sick. She looked to the doctor at the edge of the room for encouragement. He glanced up from the clipboard in his hands and gave her a barely discernible nod.

"She's over here," the nurse said, directing the man towards the incubator which contained the baby in question. "I'm so sorry about your sister." Her voice waivered slightly and she didn't risk saying anything more.

The man moved towards the incubator, noticing the blonde haired woman who stood beside it dressed in a pink protective gown.

"She's tiny," he said, stepping closer.

"Yes, she is," the woman agreed.

"Can I hold her?" he asked, placing one hand against the clear plastic box, in an apparent demonstration of his need to be close to the child.

"I'm sorry – she has to stay in the incubator for the time being," came the blonde woman's reply.

"Just for a moment?" He seemed prepared to take the baby regardless of her answer, and he reached out towards the hatch at the side of the incubator.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," the woman replied, reaching out her own hand to stop him.

"Well, I'm afraid you don't have a choice," he said, the Irish lilt to his voice becoming more prominent as his temper grew. In a well-practised movement he reached for his gun. But he wasn't the only one in the room that was doing so.

/  
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Emily tore into the hospital, flashing her badge at security and the staff at reception as she exclaimed that she had to find the NICU. Fully aware of her authority and urgency, they directed her to the correct floor. Derek was just behind her as she determined that waiting on the elevator would cost them too much time, and rushed towards the stairwell.

"Em, we don't know what we're heading into," he reminded her. They couldn't just barge into the NICU. If Hotch had managed to get a team to the hospital before they had arrived then a more sensitive approach to the situation could be under way.

"I know," she replied. "Just let me see what's going on." She'd only stop running when she could be sure the baby was in the arms of someone she could trust. She was covered in the stains of someone else's blood for the second time in the space of a day, and she wasn't about to metaphorically add the blood of an infant to that collection.

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"Put your weapon down," the blonde haired woman commanded, as she pointed her own gun towards the Irish man who stood in front of her.

The real NICU staff, and the handful of visiting parents huddled in the corners of the room or beside their children. The "doctor" joined his colleague and trained his weapon on their suspect as he edged ever closer.

"How much damage do you think I could do before you took me out?" the man grinned, taunting the woman who had now revealed herself to be a federal agent.

"Don't try me – I'm a very good shot," she warned, hoping he would surrender. While she was confident in her ability to hit a target, she'd rather not risk it in a room full of sick newborns and the vital machines which were keeping them alive.

"Relax, love," he laughed. "We wouldn't want you accidentally pulling that trigger with all these little babies around."

She held her gaze, refusing to show that he identified her fear. Suddenly, he made a move, grabbing hold of the agent who had been creeping towards him.

"Reid!" she shouted, too late to allow him to avoid the man's grasp.

"Still think you're a good shot?" he teased, easily overpowering his struggling hostage and pressing the barrel of his gun hard against his temple.

"JJ, he's bluffing," Reid insisted, despite the very real sensation of the metal touching his head. "He won't shoot." He knew that if the man pulled the trigger, it would only be a split second before JJ did the same. It didn't seem to him that their suspect was planning on dying or being arrested – escape was his only option.

"How sure are you about that?" the man snarled, stepping backwards and dragging Reid with him towards the door.

JJ refused to drop her weapon, but she made no move towards them. She had to trust that Spencer was right because she really didn't want to fire a shot in this room, or in the direction of her friend.

Without taking his eyes off of JJ or moving the gun from Reid's head, the man slowly backed towards the door and pressed the button to release the lock. Throwing his hostage roughly to the ground, he darted into the corridor and began to run.

It only took JJ a second to fall into pursuit, but she was delayed by the door and he had a substantial headstart by the time she was in the corridor. With all the people milling around, she knew it was too risky to take a shot – even more so than in the NICU, so all she could do was keep chase and hope that at some point he would trip up. Preferably literally.

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Emily and Derek had just exited the stairwell at the correct floor for the NICU, when they heard a commotion ahead of them. Still just ahead of Morgan, Emily was the first to see the man heading straight towards them. Even before JJ came into sight she knew he was involved.

"Stop! FBI!" she shouted, drawing her weapon and standing directly in his path. He was showing no signs of stopping but she stood her ground.

Morgan watched in horror as his girlfriend engaged herself in some sort of variation on a game of chicken with their suspect. He flinched as Emily stepped to the side, blocking the man's attempts to swerve around her, and his full weight collided with her, knocking them both to the floor.

"Emily!" he shouted, as the suspect stumbled to his feet and tried, once again, to escape.

"Just stop him!" she replied, feeling slightly dazed as she pulled herself upright, but still full of determination to apprehend the man who might hold the key to the dead girl and the baby. And Valhalla.

It didn't take Morgan long to tackle the man to the ground, but a struggle ensued. Both men were armed and their guns dangerously flailed around as they battled for control of the situation. They were equally matched in strength and it seemed like no one would get the upper hand. Emily watched, from where she was yet to have coordinated getting back on her feet, again feeling helpless to stop events unfolding.

And then a single gunshot echoed throughout the corridor and the chaos fell to silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, as I promised the reviewers, I'm not leaving that last cliffhanger for too long! Thanks for the response to the last chapter and to everyone following this story. I hope you like this chapter, and that there are enough twists to keep you on your toes!**

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><strong>**

The stillness of the corridor was almost eerie. Patients, visitors and hospital staff cowered against the walls, trying to keep themselves out of the line of any further shots. JJ, who had reached her colleagues seconds before the gun was fired, seemed frozen to the spot as she stared ahead with wide eyes. And Emily felt as though she was the only one moving in an odd, statue filled world.

She watched the tangle of limbs that consisted of her boyfriend and the suspect with a sickening apprehension. Her eyes searched for some sign of blood, or some indication of whether either of them was hurt. Before she could find her answer, she heard JJ's shout for medical assistance and suddenly the blonde was crouching in front of her.

"It's okay. It's just a graze," she said calmly, offering Emily the sort of smile she reserved for the family of victims.

"Derek?" Emily questioned, trying to stand up and push past JJ to where she could hear movement from the men. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," JJ replied, easing Emily back down to where she had been sitting on the floor.

"I need to see!" Emily exclaimed, once again attempting to get onto her feet. What stopped her this time was not JJ's gentle touch, but rather an excruciating pain close to her collar bone. She collapsed back to the ground, touching her fingertips to where she felt the burning sensation, and experiencing a new sense of panic when she came into contact with the wetness of her own blood. "I've been shot," she breathed, as the realisation set in.

"Emily, look at me," JJ instructed, taking hold of one of her friend's trembling hands. Only when Emily's frightened eyes met hers did she speak again. "You're going to be fine. The bullet grazed your shoulder and it's embedded in the wall. But I need you to stay calm until a doctor can take a look at you." She was concerned, not only by the bleeding wound a few inches from Emily's neck, but also the effects of the rather spectacular fall she'd taken following her collision with the suspect.

"Is she okay?" Derek's worried voice enquired. He had taken advantage of the moment of stunned silence and stillness to roughly handcuff the suspect and was now impatiently waiting for someone to take control of the struggling man so that he could be with his injured girlfriend.

"She's fine," JJ replied, giving Emily another reassuring smile. "Right?" she added, for the brunette's benefit.

"Right," she replied quietly, as JJ squeezed her hand once again.

A doctor and two police officers arrived at more or less the same time, allowing Derek to hand over custody of the suspect and take his place at Emily's side as the doctor examined her.

"You've been very lucky," the doctor said as he pressed a temporary dressing against Emily's shoulder to stem the bleeding. "Your wound is deep but it looks superficial."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Morgan asked. His hand was resting gently against the small of her back but he was resisting the urge to scoop her up in his arms and pull her against his chest. A couple of inches to the right and the bullet would have hit her neck. It didn't bear thinking about.

"No," she replied. "I don't think so." Her voice sounded a little uncertain.

"Did you hit your head when you fell?" the doctor asked, pulling a penlight from his coat pocket.

"She did," JJ replied. She had moved back to allow Morgan and the doctor to get to Emily, but she was only a few feet away, standing with her arms folded and a worried frown on her face.

"Did you lose consciousness?" the doctor asked as he flicked the light across Emily's eyes.

"No," she responded. She was sure of that answer – she hadn't missed a second of what had happened since they reached the corridor. Except, apparently, from when she got shot.

"Okay then. Let's get you into a treatment room so I can fix up that shoulder and examine you properly," he proposed. "Do you think you can walk?"

Emily nodded and soon she was being helped to her feet. As they made their way along the corridor, Derek's strong arms kept a firm grip of her body, and she knew that no matter how much she was shaking, there was no danger that she would fall.

Derek, on the other hand, had no such confidence in his abilities to support his girlfriend. As the minutes passed the nauseous feeling in his stomach only grew. He tried to remind himself that she was alive and breathing – she was even walking. But that didn't change what he knew. That didn't change what everyone would soon find out. The bullet, which was currently at the centre of a police crime scene, had originated from his gun.

/  
>

As the doctor continued his examination of Emily in the treatment room, Morgan remained in a chair at the side of her bed. At one point, as the dressing was removed from her shoulder so the wound could be cleaned, he thought he might be physically sick. The torn flesh and all of the blood – he had caused that. And each time she flinched or winced at the doctor's touch, he felt her pain in the form of his guilt. He wouldn't forgive himself for this.

"Emily, I need to tell you something," he announced, when they were finally left alone for a moment while the doctor left the room to fetch another suture kit.

"Can it wait until the hole in my shoulder is fixed?" she responded jokingly, though her voice sounded anxious. Hospitals made her uneasy, especially when she was the patient.

He stroked his hand up and down her arm in a comforting gesture, but persisted in his need to speak to her. He couldn't let her find out from anyone else.

"This is serious, Em," he told her, realising the stupidity of his words after they had left his mouth. Everything about this situation was serious.

"What's wrong?" she asked, frowning at his obvious discomfort.

"It was my gun," he answered quickly, before he could chicken out. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened or how it ended up going off. I don't even know if it was me who pulled the trigger. Emily, I'm so sorry – if you'd been more seriously injured…"

Emily's face fell slightly as she processed the information, but then she took a breath and spoke.

"It's okay," she replied softly, before he could say anything more.

Derek looked back at her with surprise. How could she be so calm?

"I know it was an accident," she continued. "And no one got seriously injured – that's all that matters."

"But _you_ got hurt," he stressed, his eyes reflecting all of his distress and pain.

"It was an accident," she repeated more forcefully, wrapping her fingers around his and giving him a look that told him she didn't want to hear any more on the matter.

Instead of arguing his guilt, he pulled her closer, silently thanking her for being so understanding and strong, and leaned in to kiss her.

"Someone will see," she mumbled just before their lips met.

"I don't care," he responded, and in that moment he really didn't. Screw professionalism. After everything that had happened since they returned from the last case he needed to kiss his girlfriend and believe that she really was okay.

Just moments later they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat in the doorway.

"Sorry," JJ apologised, as the couple jumped apart. "I didn't want to disturb you but Hotch wants to speak to Morgan."

Morgan noticeably tensed at the thought of speaking to his boss about what had happened. He could only imagine the bureaucratic nightmare which would surround the accidental shooting of a federal agent by a fellow agent, particularly when their relationship already attracted negative attention from above.

"Just tell him – it'll be okay," Emily soothed, brushing her hand across Morgan's as he nodded lightly in response.

"Will you be okay without me holding your hand?" he asked, attempting to return to his usual teasing tone but still sounding concerned.

"I think I'll survive," she responded with a laugh. "Really. I'll be fine," she insisted, when his reluctance to leave became evident.

"If you need me…" he began, hesitantly getting to his feet.

"I'll scream really loudly until you come running," she finished sarcastically.

He allowed his face to break into a small smile and placed a quick kiss on her head.

"Keep an eye on her?" he quietly asked JJ as he stepped past her and into the corridor.

"Of course," JJ agreed with a nod, and though the sense of dread which leaving Emily and anticipating the conversation which lay ahead remained, he at least knew that she wasn't alone.

/  
>

Hotch looked especially stern as he stood in the hospital corridor waiting for Morgan. Any doubts over whether the team should be involved in the investigation of the young mother's death disappeared when Doyle's chosen symbol turned up on the body. The disappearance of said body, the shooting of the medical examiner and the attempted kidnapping of the baby only confirmed that this was something which required the involvement of the FBI.

"Hotch," Derek greeted his unit chief as he came to stand beside him.

"Morgan," Hotch nodded in response. "How's Prentiss?" he asked. While JJ and Reid had brought him up to speed on the events which had unfolded, he hadn't had a chance to inquire about his agent.

"She's okay," Morgan replied. "She's tough."

"The bullet came from your gun" Hotch stated, watching as a crime scene examiner extracted the small piece of metal from the chalky wall.

"Yes," Derek nodded. "How did you know?"

"The suspect's gun was a replica," Hotch replied with a frown.

"You can't be serious!" Morgan exclaimed, attracting the attention of everyone around. The pair fell silent for a moment until the hospital staff and police officers returned to their tasks. "So he wasn't the shooter at the ME's office," he continued in a quieter voice.

"It seems unlikely."

"Damn," Derek muttered. That meant there was at least one suspect still on the loose.

"We can try to interview him but I don't expect him to give us much."

"Who's going to do it?" This man had some involvement in the mystery and Morgan would be lying if he said he didn't want to take a shot at him.

"Rossi. You're too involved," Hotch replied without missing a beat.

"What about the baby?" he asked, moving on since he knew better than to challenge Hotch over his decision.

"I've arranged additional security for the NICU and if she's discharged before we get to the bottom of this then we'll take her into protective custody," the unit chief explained.

"Did the medical examiner survive?"

Hotch's face became even more severe at the thought of the doctor they had worked with numerous times over the years.

"She's in surgery but it doesn't look good," he replied.

"I should update Emily," Morgan frowned, wishing he had some good news to take back to his girlfriend. "Do you need me to do anything else?"

"Make sure you can explain how your weapon came to be discharged," Hotch instructed. There would certainly be an internal investigation into what had happened. "I'll try to stall Internal Affairs for as long as I can but they'll want to speak to you."

"Thanks, Hotch," he replied sincerely, relieved that his boss seemed to be on his side.

"Just get back to Emily. You can take her to my house when she's done here and I'll see you both later."

Morgan nodded before setting off to do as he was told – he didn't need any encouragement to return to Emily's side. But he couldn't help but be concerned that, while he had some answers to offer, there were also many more questions which they hadn't yet started to address. The full depths of this case were only just coming to light and he worried about what surprises lay ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So it's been a while but I've finally got a new chapter for you. Thank you, as always, for reviewing and reading. This is mostly Emily/Derek fluff, but with a major plot development and I hope you enjoy it. I thought a little break in the action was called for.**

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>**

Emily was released from the hospital shortly after the doctor had finished stitching her shoulder, with a prescription for painkillers and instructions to rest for the next couple of days. But still, hours later, Morgan found himself waiting on a hospital ward rather than taking care of his girlfriend at home. Or at least at Hotch's house. He didn't think the blood stained floor of their apartment would do much to help Emily relax.

"Come on Em, you heard what the doctor said. You lost a lot of blood - you need to be taking it easy." He spoke softly but firmly, not wanting to antagonise the headstrong woman, but also making it clear that she had to start prioritising her own health.

Emily barely acknowledged him. She was too caught up in her own thoughts. Thoughts of terrorists and four-leaf clovers and guns. Thoughts of blood and death and the nagging pain that seemed to be spreading throughout her body. And thoughts of the innocent and blissfully oblivious baby girl in the incubator in front of her.

"Emily?" Derek continued, prompting her to respond.

"I want to stay here a little bit longer," she replied, glancing between the child and the police officers who guarded the door to the isolation room which was being used to ensure security was stronger and easier to manage. It didn't seem right that, instead of being with her parents, this little girl would be spending the first days of her life surrounded by armed bodyguards. Even the number of hospital staff with access had been limited to those necessary to meet her medical and care needs.

"It's getting late," he commented, pointedly.

"She doesn't have anyone," Emily responded with even more force.

She returned her attention to the child, placing a disinfected hand through the hatch in the side of the incubator and smiling as a tiny hand wrapped itself around her finger when she gently pressed it against the baby's palm. A tired smile crept across her face at the girl's strength.

"There are enough doctors and nurses to take care of her," Derek stated, unsure how to react to this uncharacteristically maternal side which Emily seemed to be showing. He'd seen her interact with Henry and with young children that she'd encountered as part of their work, but he'd never seen her like this before. "She'll be fine. We can come back in the morning," he said, changing tact as he realised that Emily had already formed some sort of an attachment to the girl.

Emily watched the baby slowly drift back to sleep, before she lifted her head and let her eyes meet Derek's. He seemed to be pleading with her to leave and as she felt the tired ache of her body and the heaviness of her eyelids, she realised that it wouldn't really do anyone any good in the long run if she exhausted herself.

"I guess I'm kind of tired," she admitted quietly, giving him a small smile, which quickly slipped from her face as she got to her feet and found her legs had all the strength of a tub of jello.

"I got you," he said, immediately slipping an arm around her waist.

She leaned against his body, allowing him to support some of her weight. Over the course of the past day she had let herself depend on him more than she had in all of the time they had been together. And while the circumstances were certainly undesirable, she couldn't help but think that this new side to their relationship wasn't all bad.

/  
>

When Hotch returned to his house in the early hours of the morning, a part of him hoped that his colleagues would already be asleep. Moments before he'd planned to leave the office he'd received a phone call which, just as seemed to be the norm with this case, had provided them with some answers but equally created a greater number of questions. As he stepped into the dimly lit living room, he discovered that his wish had been granted in part. Morgan was awake but Emily was dead to the world.

"How is she?" he asked, taking in the scene before him with a frown. Emily was curled up against Morgan, with her head resting on his chest and her hands tightly gripping the blanket that was draped across her body. Even in her sleep she looked so vulnerable and clingy, and not at all like the unshakeable federal agent and ambassador's daughter that he was used to.

"Exhausted," Morgan replied, lifting his head to face Hotch but continuing to run his fingers through the sleeping woman's dark hair. It had only taken her minutes to fall asleep once they sat down, but even now he could feel the tension which exuded from her body.

"I should let you both rest," Hotch remarked, after a long pause in which he debated whether to share the latest update or leave it until morning.

"What's going on?" Morgan asked, sensing the other man's unease.

"It can wait," Hotch insisted, but the look that Morgan gave him in response told him that he wasn't fooling anyone. "The lab found a partial match with the baby's DNA," he admitted, subconsciously lowering his voice in case Emily wasn't as sound asleep as she appeared.

"Who?" Morgan responded, though Hotch's face had all but answered his question.

"Doyle," he confirmed, his eyes focussing on Emily, willing her to remain oblivious to the name he had spoken.

"But he's dead!" Derek exclaimed, quickly dropping his voice to a whisper when Emily mumbled in her sleep. "How?" he breathed quietly, an uneasy chill running down his spine at the thought that the tiny child they'd spent most of the evening watching, was the product of a monster. And a dead monster at that. Equally concerning, was the fact that Emily's seemingly automatic connection to the child made sense. The exact details of Lauren Reynold's relationship with Ian Doyle were not something which they discussed, but it had always been clear to Derek that Emily had been drawn to the terrorist in a way that ran deeper than the requirements of an undercover operation.

"He died seven months ago; the doctors think the girl was about eight months pregnant. It's possible," Hotch replied. After receiving the phone call from the lab, he'd had to take a moment to collect his more rational thoughts and rid himself of the initial shock of Doyle's name and DNA cropping up in the present tense. Now it seemed Morgan needed to do the same.

Before either of the men could say another word, Emily shifted her position and groaned, slowly waking at the sensations of pain and stiffness which coursed through her body from her injured shoulder and the various bruises she had obtained in her collision with the suspect.

"I'll give you some privacy," Hotch announced, a look of concern expanding across his face as he watched her. Emily needed to be looked after right now and he knew she wouldn't allow Morgan to help her if their were any spectators. However, as he left the room, he admitted to himself that there was also a selfish reason behind his decision. He didn't want to be the one responsible for causing her anymore distress. And he had no doubts that the latest update would do nothing but that.

It was only seconds after Hotch's departure that Emily groggily opened her eyes and turned her head to see Morgan frowning.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he smiled, forcing any trace of shock or unease from his voice. But he was too late; she'd already seen his unsettled expression.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled, grimacing as she became more aware of her own body and its protests at even the slightest movement.

"Nothing," he assured her, gently helping her to sit up and smoothing down her unusually messy hair.

"Liar," she replied, raising her eyebrows high above her tired eyes. The shadows which surrounded her gaze and her paler than normal skin told him that she needed a lot more rest than a few hours napping on the sofa. And she certainly didn't need to hear any more difficult news.

"Hotch was just telling me that internal affairs want to speak to me in the morning," he answered. It was plausible enough that he was sure she'd believe it and, while his boss hadn't actually said anything about it, the rest of the statement was likely true. It was only a small lie and he had to ensure she went back to sleep. No one was built to withstand everything she had faced since the previous evening and even someone like Emily needed to recover a little before she took on anything else.

"It'll be okay; it was an accident," she told him, fixing her wide, dark eyes on his in a way that made him feel inexplicably more settled, and gently stroking her hand against his bare forearm.

"Shouldn't I be the one looking after you?" he grinned.

"Well, I suppose you did shoot me," she responded teasingly, with a shrug of her shoulders, which she instantly regretted.

"That's karma," he told her, matching her tone and feeling somewhat relieved to hear that her sharp wit was still intact, as he carefully eased her arm back into a less tense, and hopefully less uncomfortable, position. "Are you okay?" he asked, sounding more serious when the pained expression on her face didn't relax.

"Sore," she muttered, giving up any hope of maintaining a poker face.

"How does painkillers and bed sound?" he asked, offering her his arm to help her onto her unsteady feet. Silently, she followed his lead, resting her head against his shoulder as he wrapped her in his arms. "I'll take that as a yes then," he continued, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

She'd be better in the morning. Rested. Stronger. More Emily-like. He'd tell her everything she had to know then. But for now Morgan had nothing more to offer her than comfort and warmth. And from the way she leaned heavily against his form and allowed him to guide her upstairs, he could tell it was all she needed.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I have no idea why this chapter took me so long but I played with it a lot before settling on this version. Thanks for reading and reviewing and I hope you like this update.**

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>**

_"Get her to Lauren. If it all goes wrong and you can only do one thing, you have to get her to Lauren," the older of the two men had instructed. His words directed at the young woman sitting in the next booth, though his eyes focussed on his companion._

_"But Lauren's dead," the younger man said pointedly._

_"So was Emily Prentiss," came the reply, accompanied by a knowing grin._

_The young woman had taken a sip of her drink, feeling the slow burn of the whisky on her throat, as she contemplated the plan. Get her to Lauren. A simple command. With the potential to start a war. _

Six months later, that war was under way. And at the centre of it all was the baby, currently under the protection of armed men and with no idea of the chain reaction of events her very existence had brought about. It complicated everything that the police and the FBI were involved. But, as she assessed the extent of security surrounding the NICU, the young woman settled her mind on the view that it was better than many of the alternatives.

She was inconspicuous enough to go unnoticed in the busy hospital corridor. Her face reflected just the right mix of grief and fear to fit in amongst the terrified parents. But it wasn't the doctors and nurses she had to worry about. Or even the police for that matter. She was risking her life by coming here, just for a glimpse of the child she hadn't quite managed to get to safety.

Something had gone wrong; many things had gone wrong. There hadn't been time to resurrect Lauren. Even leaving that aside, she'd left it too late to act. Chickened out. The result was that she would struggle under this guilt and grief until one day she disappeared under its weight.

But maybe it wasn't too late for the child.

/  
>

"Emily, say something."

It was morning and he'd told her. And now she was staring into her cup of coffee and avoiding his gaze.

"She looks like Declan," Emily responded slowly, after a drawn out pause. "I think I already knew that. Somehow."

She stirred another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. It must have been nearing the consistency of melted toffee by now.

"Taking tips from Reid?" he asked, with an uncertain laugh.

"What?" she replied with a puzzled expression, before taking a mouthful of the overly sweetened liquid and screwing up her face.

"I'll get you another cup," Derek offered, but she shook her head.

"I want to get to the hospital."

_"Why?" _he wanted to ask. Had she not heard him? The baby was Doyle's. The Valhalla connection made sense. She needed to distance herself; she needed to pull herself away from the world that had almost killed her. Not to dive further into his legacy. He studied her expression closely, and was troubled to see that behind the mask she wore for the world, and behind the exhaustion and residual shock which he could discern, lay flickers of unfamiliar and unknown emotions and thoughts.

There was a lot Derek didn't know about her time as Lauren Reynolds. He was sure he didn't want to know exactly what she had felt as she went to bed with a terrorist. That part of Emily's life was compartmentalised deep inside, further away than anything else she had ever seen or done. And while he was almost certain it was for the best, it made him uneasy that she had so little to say to him on the matters they were currently facing.

"Are you coming?" she asked, already slipping her arms into the jacket.

He sighed. Right now wasn't the time to fight her on this.

"Just let me call Hotch and let him know where we'll be," he replied, his lack of enthusiasm over her plan not going unnoticed.

/  
>

She was sitting in the waiting area beside the nurses' desk when the dark haired woman and her muscular partner approached and presented their badges. Envy flickered across her eyes as the two agents were immediately taken along the corridor and allowed entry to the small isolation room. It didn't seem fair that they had access when she couldn't even see the only family she had left.

It was only twenty minutes later when the man emerged, looking frustrated and a little hurt. He strode down the corridor, snatching his cellphone from his pocket and pressing it to his ear.

"I can't watch her do this," he told the caller. "She's too involved."

Her hopes dared to rise for the first time in a long time at his words. That didn't sound like the impenetrable Agent Prentiss she was preparing herself to approach.

"I'm not going to sit back and wait for her to find some other way to let him kill her," he continued, lowering his voice as he remembered where he was. It was evident the person on the other end of the phone was trying to calm him down but it didn't seem to be working.

After a few more similar exchanges, he ended the call and stopped pacing the corridor. Then with a quick glance back towards the isolation room, he headed in the direction of the elevator and a way out of the building.

Whatever was going on, she'd find a way to make it work in her favour.

/  
>

Emily gave Morgan a little time to himself before she set off to look for him. The tension between them since he'd revealed the baby's parentage had been uncomfortable to say the least. It was clear that she hadn't reacted the way he had expected. Or the way he had hoped. She knew that Hotch's phone call had just given him a convenient reason to leave the room and, more importantly, the baby. While Emily felt an even greater need to protect the orphan, it seemed that Derek saw nothing but Ian Doyle when he glanced into the incubator.

"Everything okay?" she asked tentatively, as she made her way through the hospital peace garden to the bench where he sat staring into space.

"Hotch wants me back at Quantico to speak to internal affairs," he replied without turning to face his girlfriend or showing any sign that he was going to do what he had just described.

"It's raining," she remarked, sitting beside him.

"I don't like hospitals," he responded, offering an innocuous explanation for his decision to sit outside in the drizzling rain.

"I don't want to drag you into this," she told him, placing her hand over his in an attempt to close the distance the tension put between them.

"It's too late for that," he answered flatly.

Emily turned towards him, a questioning look on her face.

"What do you mean?"

"You're involved. That means I am," he answered in the same blunt tone.

"I didn't force you to do anything," she replied, beginning to sound less careful and more defensive.

"Do you really think I have a choice?" His exasperation and frustration overspilled, causing him to meet her defensiveness with a hint of anger.

"Derek..."

"Emily, I can't sit back and wait for him to hurt you again!" he interrupted. "This is just like the last time."

"I can take care of myself and this is nothing like the last time!" Her voice grew louder. "Doyle is dead!" There was something in her voice which suggested that she needed to reassure herself of everything she was telling him.

"Then why does it feel like he's about to take you away again?"

Derek was now on his feet, having pulled away from Emily's touch.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she responded, trying to keep her tone calm. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Forgive me if I don't trust you on that," he muttered. She'd done it before, and while her reasons had been good, the results had almost killed him. He didn't doubt that she'd go off on her own again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her temper flared as Morgan also stopped making any attempt to curtail his true feelings.

"You're shutting down; you're not speaking to me!"

"I'm speaking to you right now!" she snapped pointedly. By this point they were both on their feet and it was clear to anyone passing by that they were in the middle of an argument.

"But you're not telling me anything," he sighed.

"What do you want to know?" She raised her eyebrows and pushed her rain soaked hair out of her face.

Several questions buzzed around his head, but each carried a loosely disguised criticism which he knew he would come to regret. They were tired. The last couple of days had been unbearably stressful. The damage they would do by continuing this argument wasn't worth it.

"I need to get back to Quantico," he told her, hoping that she'd offer to come with him. But she remained quiet. "You're staying here?" he asked, though it wasn't a question he needed answered.

"I'll see you later," she responded coolly, though a hint of an apology danced across the tip of her tongue. "It'll be fine," she added. "With internal affairs, I mean."

He nodded, fighting with himself over whether he should be the first to say he was sorry, or whether he should leave. Though he didn't like the idea of walking away, he wasn't particularly eager to apologise before she did, and he began to head for parking lot.

"Derek?" she called, chewing anxiously on her lip. She was already feeling guilty for the tone she had taken with him.

He turned back to face her with an expression as regretful yet stubborn as hers.

"I love you," she told him, her voice sincere and stressing the importance of her words. It wasn't quite saying sorry but it made the point she needed to.

"I love you too," he replied, softening slightly. "Just stay out of trouble for the next few hours," he added, his attempt at a grin falling flat under the effects of his residual anger and his very real concerns for her wellbeing.

"I'll try," she promised, forcing her lips into a weak smile and, as he walked away, wishing that their first real fight had come at any time other than now.

/  
>

After Morgan left, Emily took a few minutes to compose herself, intending to head back to the NICU. In her preoccupation with their argument and the never ending thoughts of Doyle and the baby, she hadn't noticed that someone had been watching her since she came outside. In fact, she almost walked straight into the strangely familiar young woman.

"Sorry," she mumbled as they danced around one another on the path that led through the deserted garden. "Can I help you?" she asked, a sense of unease growing, as the woman seemed to intentionally block her way.

"I'm looking for Lauren Reynolds," came the woman's calm reply, and Emily felt a chill spread through her body and leave her frozen to the spot.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you," she replied as steadily as she could, while her eyes searched for any hidden source of danger, or more importantly, for the man that could help her. Why hadn't she just apologised? Or better yet, gone with him?

"I think you can," the woman persisted, eventually locking her gaze with Emily's. "Please."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I could not figure out this chapter. But I've finally got something I'm happy to share, and I hope it's long enough to start making up for the delay. Thanks for reading and reviewing and I really hope the next chapter won't take me so long!**

/  
>

"What do you want?" Emily asked, her eyes suspiciously scanning the surrounding area, and her hand hovering over the spot where her gun normally rested in its holster. She regretted leaving it in Hotch's safe.

The other woman remained quiet as her gaze also darted around the garden and towards the grey parking lot.

"Not here," she mumbled, having exhausted the burst of courage it had taken for her to approach Emily. "They might see."

For the first time since the stranger appeared, Emily looked her straight in the eye. She was surprised to find the same frightened expression that she had seen just days before. There had been nothing she could do to help the last girl who had come to her for help, and she decided there and then that this time it would be different.

"Is this to do with Ian Doyle?" she asked, watching the eyes in front of her widen before they resumed their frantic search for danger.

Once she had assured herself that no one was about to swoop in and kill her on the spot, the woman nodded.

"Please, help me," she begged, grasping Emily's hand in her own.

"It's okay. I know a place we can go to talk," Emily replied, before she could doubt her decision. Something warned her that she shouldn't be getting further involved, but she couldn't help herself. "I'll help you," she promised, in full knowledge of the conflict between what she was saying and the words she had uttered to Morgan.

Pushing all thoughts of the fight her actions would undoubtedly cause out of her mind, she ushered the girl out of the garden and prepared to begin her own investigation into the life and death of the mysterious young mother-to-be.

/  
>

"You're sure we're safe here?" the young woman asked quietly, as Emily poured tea from the pot into the china cups which sat at opposite sides of the table between them.

"I'm sure," she replied, a brief survey of the room confirming her assessment.

The café was one at which she'd spent an afternoon off with Garcia and JJ the previous week. It was dimly lit and split into sections divided by an assortment of beaded curtains and screens, offering at least the illusion of privacy for its customers. Best of all, it was tucked away from the busy main streets in a location which provided sufficient twists and turns to assure her that they hadn't been followed. A week ago she'd thought it unnecessarily quirky, but today, as she sat in the one corner which offered a full view of the half-empty establishment, she was glad she knew of it.

"Who told you about Lauren Reynolds?" she asked, launching straight into the purpose of leaving the hospital for a more discreet meeting place.

"A man," the young woman replied. "A friend of Doyle's; I don't know his name. But I was told to bring my sister to Lauren Reynolds - to you - if we found ourselves in trouble. They gave me your address."

"She was your sister?" Emily thought aloud, suddenly becoming aware of the similarities in facial features between the dead girl and her companion.

"Her name was Sophie," the girl nodded. "When they attacked her I brought her to your apartment. I left her at the door. She was supposed to be safe."

"There was nothing I could do," Emily responded sadly. "She was gone before the paramedics got there."

"How did she die?"

Emily was caught off guard by the question; for some reason she had expected that the girl's sister would have known the details.

"She was in labour - did you know that?" she began slowly, only continuing when the other woman nodded. "She started bleeding when she gave birth and then... The medical examiner thought the placenta might have detached from her womb when she was injured.

"Did she suffer?" The young woman's eyes were filled with tears but she was successfully stopping them from spilling onto her cheeks.

"It was quick," Emily replied, offering the best reassurance she could. "Before she died, she said something," she continued tentatively. "Do you know what Valhalla means?"

"It was Doyle's name," the girl replied quickly, looking immediately uncomfortable.

"I know that. I just wondered if there was something else."

The girl shook her head and shrugged, desperate to move the conversation along. Emily eyed her suspiciously.

"If you want my help, you have to be straight with me," she told her seriously.

"I am. I don't know what Valhalla is. I just know that it's bad. Please, believe me," came the desperate response.

Emily was still unconvinced but decided not to push the matter.

"What's your name?" she asked, hopeful the girl would now be willing to give her this information to keep her on side.

"Marissa," she replied, without a pause and without even a trace of reluctance.

"Is that your real name?"

"It's what everyone else calls me," she shrugged.

"Marissa, who hurt your sister?" Emily asked, testing out the name, and determining that a more accurate identity wasn't the most important matter.

Marissa looked behind her, as her anxiety rose once again. No source of danger revealed itself, and the only person who seemed aware of her existence was the waitress who gave the seemingly staring customer a quick smile.

"Sophie and I ran away from home four years ago," she began, keeping her voice low as a final measure of security. "We were on the street and they took us in. We had to work for them; it wasn't so bad at first. But then they found other uses for us..." she trailed off, looking ashamed.

"Did your pimp hurt Sophie?" Emily asked quietly, showing no sign of judgement.

Marissa nodded, picking up the cup of rapidly cooling tea from the table and pressing it against her lips as she tried to avoid making eye contact with the dark haired agent.

"Do you work for Doyle's men?" she continued, trying to piece together the explanation which was unfolding.

Before Marissa could answer, they were interrupted by the ringing of Emily's cellphone. With a quick glance at the display, she silenced the call and returned her attention to the girl in front of her. Everything else could wait.

/  
>

"She's probably still in the NICU," JJ remarked as Morgan slammed his phone onto the desk in a temper, having tried, for a third time, to reach Emily.

"I know," he sighed, glancing up to face his friend as she perched on the edge of his desk. "I should get over there - it's not like I can do anything here," he added with a humourless laugh.

"It's only temporary, Derek," the blonde reasoned, though her tone was sympathetic.

His interview with internal affairs couldn't have been much worse, and he now found himself suspended, pending the outcome of their investigation. He suspected that Strauss's dislike of two agents being in a relationship hadn't helped his case.

"It was an accident," JJ continued. "And it'll be sorted out in no time. No one really thinks you can't control a gun, or that you shot your girlfriend on purpose." She couldn't help but smirk slightly at the ridiculousness of the latter part of her statement.

Derek's face showed no sign of amusement.

"Emily doesn't need to be worrying about this as well; I'm meant to be looking after her," he responded.

"Emily can take care of herself," JJ reminded her friend, arching one eyebrow in a knowing fashion. "And she'd be beyond pissed if she knew you were talking like that."

Derek contemplated his friend's words and expression for a moment. Her warning was good humoured but he knew she was telling the truth. Still, he couldn't shake the image of Emily bleeding in the hospital corridor from his head.

"I shot her," he mumbled quietly, staring at the ground.

"It was an accident," JJ repeated forcefully. "Get out of here and see her before I tell Garcia you're moping around the office."

"I think I should give her some space," he responded. He had been wondering if Emily was intentionally avoiding his calls. "We got into a fight."

"You're as bad as each other," JJ sighed, shaking her head. "Go to the hospital, grovel, and kiss and make up," she instructed, sliding off the desk and playfully shoving his shoulder. "And remember I'm here. For both of you."

"Thanks, JJ," he smiled, though he was far from feeling okay.

Once he was alone, he retrieved his discarded phone, and once again redialled his girlfriend's number. He sighed as he was greeted with the sound of her voice telling him to leave a message after the tone. It seemed he'd only be able to make his uncomfortable apology in person.

/  
>

"Are you sure you don't need to get that?" Marissa asked, as Emily's phone lit up on the table between them.

Emily's gaze flickered towards the screen, though she already knew who was calling. She also knew that she should answer, even if only to let him know that she was okay. But she didn't want to give Marissa the opportunity to escape the conversation before she had answers.

"It's fine," she insisted, cutting off the call and turning off her phone. "Now, did you work for Doyle?"

Marissa was a little startled by the aggressive edge to Emily's tone, and the agent immediately regretted her forceful approach.

"I'm sorry. I just... I want to catch whoever was responsible for your sister's death," she apologised, knowing that she had more selfish reasons for her solo investigation than getting justice for the girl.

"We didn't work for Doyle," Marissa answered cautiously.

"Then how did you know him?" Emily asked, being careful not to sound as though she was pressuring the other woman.

"He was Sophie's client. I think he just wanted to get to our boss - you know, piss off his rivals," she replied, her face dropping as she realised she'd revealed more than she'd intended.

"His rivals?" Emily questioned.

"They'll kill me," Marissa mumbled, her eyes once again resembling those of a frightened animal.

"I'll protect you."

"You can't."

An uneasy silence fell between them, punctuated only by the occasional clinking of china from the kitchen or a laugh from the other customers, whose business in being in the cafe was far more innocuous than that of the two women.

"Let me try," Emily pleaded. "You wanted my help."

"But not in this way," Marissa replied, with a flicker of confidence returning. "I just want my niece to be safe; I can take care of the rest."

Emily considered the young woman sitting before her. She was skinny - unhealthily so. Her chipped nail polish and harshly bleached hair made it clear that, despite someone's attempts at moulding her appearance a certain way, she was no high end escort. And, though her washed out palour and tired eyes gave the impression of someone much older, Emily was certain she was only in her early twenties. She was vulnerable and Emily didn't feel comfortable with the idea of leaving her to go back to the men who had caused her sister's death. But at the same time, there was a lot that she didn't know and she didn't want to scare the girl away by being too pushy.

"At least take my number," she said, scribbling her contact details onto a napkin.

Marissa accepted the napkin and tucked it into her purse.

"Will you make sure the baby is okay?" she asked.

"Of course," Emily promised. "But I want to help you as well," she persisted. "Please, give me a name; tell me who you work for."

Marissa glanced nervously around the room, before she reached for the pen Emily had left on the table, and picked up her own napkin. She quickly scrawled something across the thin paper before thrusting it into Emily's hand.

"Thank you," Emily told her, retrieving several bills from her purse and sliding them across the table. "Take a cab," she instructed. "We should leave separately. Just in case."

Marissa got to her feet, eager to remover herself from the risky meeting.

"Are you sure I can't get you somewhere safe?" Emily asked.

"Nowhere's safe," Marissa replied, avoiding eye contact with the older woman.

Though Emily wished she could offer reassurance, she suspected the girl was right.

/  
>

Morgan paced the corridor outside of the NICU, with his cellphone pressed against his ear. She wasn't there. He couldn't contact her. And his pulse quickened as his mind ran through all the situations which could account for her apparent disappearance.

"Emily," he gasped in surprise, when she emerged from the elevator.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, ignoring her question in favour of asking his own. "I've been calling you."

His concern was quickly turning to anger that she had seemingly been avoiding his calls.

"I went for a walk," she lied. "I turned off my phone."

"Bull," he responded.

"Derek..."

"I got suspended," he told her, watching as realisation dawned across her face.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"You forgot I was being interviewed by internal affairs?" he asked, subconsciously raising his voice to the point that the nurses at the desk turned to watch.

"I didn't forget," she insisted uselessly. They could both see through everything she was saying.

"Where were you?" he asked again?

Emily took in a breath and blew it out, all the time picking at her ragged nails. The man before her was so much more than a colleague - that was possibly the greatest difference between now and the last time she had decided to go it alone. A part of her was desperate to tell him everything she had learned, but the other part needed her to work by herself - that was a habit she just couldn't seem to escape.

"Emily?" he pressed, his tone firm, but his eyes softening and searching for his girlfriend behind the defensive front she was presenting.

She couldn't put off her decision much longer. It was time to let him in or push him away - there was no more middle ground.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one.**

**/**  
><strong>**

She slammed the closet door, stuffing the armful of clothing into her go-bag and hissing as the energetic movements aggravated her wounded shoulder. Anger clouded her every thought and action and all she wanted to do was scream.

"Emily, we need to talk about this," he sighed, trying to be reasonable as he followed after her and came to stand in the doorway.

"You already made your opinion perfectly clear," she spat, throwing the bag onto the bed as she replayed the earlier stages of their fight in her head.

_"How do you expect me to trust you if you keep lying?" The question erupted from his mouth the moment the door of the SUV slammed shut. They'd left the hospital to continue their conversation without an audience._

_"I don't want to lie to you; I want to explain!" she insisted, knowing that her words were falling on deaf ears. _

_"You can't help yourself!" he responded, pointedly slamming the palm of his hand against the top of the steering wheel._

_"What do you want to know?" _

_"You can fake your own death, you can screw a terrorist, but you can't give me a straight answer - what is wrong with you?"_

_An eerie silence came over the car as his question hung in the air. _

_"I can screw a terrorist?" she questioned, her expression stony as she spoke in a dangerously low voice._

_"That's all you heard?" he responded, mirroring her expression._

_When she offered no defence he held up his hands and shook his head._

_"I can't do this."_

Trying to forget the uncomfortable drive to their apartment, she opened the safe, retrieving her passport and back-up weapon. Derek's regret and apprehension stirred as he realised she wasn't messing about with her threats to leave.

"I lost my temper, Em," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean what?" she asked, the venom slipping slightly from her voice as her eyes watered in her losing battle not to cry.

His eyes couldn't leave hers as she fought an internal battle with her physical and emotional pain, and her head-strong stubbornness. It took everything he had not to pull her into his arms and promise that he hadn't meant a word of what he'd said, and that he'd never say any of it again. But he knew that was a lie, and that it wasn't going to do them any good in the long term.

"I'm not giving up on you," he answered gently. "I just got frustrated."

She nodded slowly, glancing at the sloppily packed bag on the bed and the gun and passport she still clasped in her hand. Where did she go from here? She wasn't the kind of person to throw a tantrum when she wasn't getting her way in am argument; she'd had every intention of taking off for a hotel or JJ's couch and even now, it was still a possibility. It seemed childish to have reacted in that manner and then back down at the hint of an apology.

"Maybe put the gun down if were gonna talk? I'm all for getting even but..." he trailed off with a shrug and a wavering grin, hoping his attempt at lightening the situation wouldn't seem too inappropriate.

To his relief she made a small snorting sound as a smile momentarily flickered across her lips. The tension now broken, she placed the contents of her hands on top of her go-bag. While she was willing to have another shot at talking like adults, she wasn't ready to commit to staying for the night. Not yet at least.

/  
>

Ten minutes later, the couple found themselves hovering around the kitchen, and one another, in an uneasy silence. Emily leaned against the worktop, clutching a hot mug between her hands. Derek sat at the table doing the same. Both were caught up in thoughts of the turn of events which had brought them here. Just days before they'd been flirting and playfully arguing over who would pick up the Chinese take-out.

"What happened with internal affairs?" she asked, her tone all but drained of any emotion.

"The usual," he replied, and they shared the trace of a knowing smile. "They weren't satisfied with my explanation so they decided to suspend me while they try to figure out what happened." He tried to sound flippant but it was obvious he was upset by the decision.

"Hotch is in your corner - it'll be okay," she assured him, though her words sounded more hollow than intended.

"Emily," he began cautiously, his brow furrowing as he carefully planned out his next words. "I don't want to make a thing of it but..."

"Where was I this afternoon?" she completed.

He nodded, watching her intently as she played with the string from the teabag in her mug and avoided his gaze.

"Someone came to me for help," she responded. "And I offered to help them."

She didn't dare look up for fear of seeing his disappointment at such a vague explanation, but she heard him exhale a long breath as he prevented his frustration revealing itself again.

"I know you say you're already involved, but I don't want your involvement to go any deeper," she hurriedly explained. "I know what Doyle was willing to do to the families of his enemies, and I don't doubt for a second that his men would do the same. I can't lose you."

She lifted her head at those last few words and he saw that, once again, her eyes were brimming with tears.

"And you think I could handle losing you?" he choked.

"I can look after myself," she insisted, her expression imploring him to trust her on this one thing.

"Damn it Emily, you're not invincible!" he muttered, his words somehow having a greater impact than anything he had yelled before.

He only had to think of that day, and he could see her blood coating his hands and feel her grip loosening as he begged her to stay with him. In their line of work he had accepted that he had to live with some fear that they'd be in that position again some day. But her past, and anything to do with Ian Doyle, brought a level of danger he simply couldn't live with.

"I know that," she sighed, pausing for a moment as readied herself to continue. "If I tell you what I know - if I bring you in on this - then I need to know that you're on my side. No matter what."

"Do you really have to ask?" he responded immediately.

"Even if it gets you in more trouble with the bureau?" she asked, knowing that in protecting the baby she'd probably end up breaking a few rules.

"What have you got yourself into?" he pressed, looking concerned as she ran her teeth over her lip and let out a sigh.

"It's nothing bad," she insisted. "I made a promise to someone, and I intend to keep it. No matter what."

He got to his feet, crossed the room and took the mug from her hands, setting it on the counter so that he could hold her warm hand in his own. To his relief, she allowed him to intertwine their fingers rather than pulling away.

"I trust you," he told her sincerely. "Whatever you promised, I'll help you keep it."

Though still hesitant, she knew she'd given him enough chances to back out. And the fact he was still standing there, running his thumb lightly over the side of her hand, after everything that had happened and everything that had been said, made her certain that she was better off with him than alone. Without giving herself any opportunity to develop doubt, she informed him of her plan.

"Have you ever thought about becoming a foster carer?" she asked, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

Derek's face contorted into an expression of shock, which would have been comical if not for the situation, and he almost dropped hold of her hand. Of all the scenarios he could have imagined, he was not expecting that.


End file.
